It’s been a year, give or take, since I first committed to repopulating my website with posts. I spent hours, weeks, charting a better way to organize this site. Ended up with more than two-dozen folders and files and then…and then…. Hmm. Seems “commitment” was the wrong word.

Two-dozen files, it appears, is at least a score too many for a brain like mine to handle. It’s like having two-dozen keys on my keychain and hoping one of them will open the door. Damn near drove myself batty. And given my track record with blogging, it’s not exactly like I’m looking for you, dear reader. For one, this post I began working on fewer than a half-score days ago has already stalled.

Giving it a working title—what can you say of a dead man’s dreams?”—that was the easy part. But I ramble when I write. It’s not just a brain thing, regardless how intimately my synapses play into it. I mean, I’ve spent hours on this already and…. Oh—wait.

I dash to kitchen to turn off the teakettle. Forget why I put it on. Hah—it all comes back to me now. So I (switch to past tense)
• turned off teakettle
• raked the coals in the woodstove and tossed in a couple more logs and
• hmmm. Forgot.

Oh yeah. I was
• about to check out best foods for potassium
• something to do with hardened arteries and all they foretell. (I was in the bathroom; picked up the magazine on the footstool; the header? Health scare of the week.)

The pity is that when I left off it was Xmas eve. Today the teakettle spoke to me again, twice. In less than three hours, this first day of a brand-new year will be history. What stopped me? An entire weeks-worth of unanticipated day-job must-do’s popped up, along with the inevitable volunteer- and household must-also-do’s, which boring as they might sound on the surface of things, could warrant further exploration. Just not today.

So. What can you say of a dead man’s dreams? Or rather—what can I say of a dead man’s dreams? The man in question being my father. Which is as good a place to leave it as any. For now.